


Time and Again:  The Tale of A Humble Clockmaker and his Apprentice

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Soulmates, written for Star Crossed Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: Once upon a time, in a kingdom quite like and unlike our own, lived a simple man of humble beginnings and even humbler middlings, and his apprentice. Tasked with a job that few men could fathom, dare even try, Takashi Shirogane madeclocks. Not any clocks though, for Takashi Shirogane’s clocks were unable to be forced or coerced, nor replicated in any manner, no matter how much gold one wished to barter.
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Mentions of Shiro/Adam (past)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69
Collections: Star-Crossed: Sheith Soulmate Zine 2020





	Time and Again:  The Tale of A Humble Clockmaker and his Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> I am honored to have had this work featured in the Star Crossed Zine, a free zine dedicated to soulmates, for the Sheith fandom! 
> 
> I've been given the okay to publish it here, but I absolutely recommend you grab a PDF copy! It's absolutely free and beautifully-crafted! Check it out over at twitter.com/sheithsoulmate for more info!

Once upon a time, in a kingdom quite like and unlike our own, lived a simple man of humble beginnings and even humbler middlings, and his apprentice. Tasked with a job that few men could fathom, dare even _try,_ Takashi Shirogane made _clocks._ Not any clocks though, for Takashi Shirogane’s clocks were unable to be forced or coerced, nor replicated in any manner, no matter how much gold one wished to barter. 

Even the creation of a Takashi Shirogane clock should have very well been nigh impossible, but with a man so _infuriatingly_ impossible as him, that line became less a line and more of a very, very obtuse squiggle. 

Now, perhaps you wonder, my dear reader, what could be nigh impossible about making a clock? Surely, though there is a grace and delicacy in making such beautiful and marvelous contraptions, they are simply that of wood and metal and glass? Though so expertly crafted that a single touch could set off a chain reaction for the rest of time itself, it is still simply just a clock, say you?

And yes, there is always that skill of great import, but there is another. For, you see, Takashi Shirogane’s clocks were not merely _clocks._

“How is that so?” you will undoubtedly ask, and question the veracity of a simple man such as myself, but I quite assure you that there was something outright _peculiar_ about his clocks, something that no man nor woman could ever quite explain. 

However, I shall do my best to tell you of a man who defied logic, whose nimble hands did the unthinkable, who mastered the unattainable. It is up to you to believe my words, but I implore you to look beyond what you know into what may very well be the unknown.

I beg for a moment of your time, my attentive reader, for this story must be told, and you must be willing to pay attention. This is a story with sadness, yes, but also of love and joy.

Do you accept? Will you take the good with the bad, the joy with the pain? Are you willing to accept all of the hurt to reach the peaks of happiness? 

If so, please do go on, for I will tell you the story of a simple man of humble beginnings and even humbler middlings, and his apprentice.

Takashi Shirogane, known by most as Shiro, was born into a family of clockmakers. Taught in the trade by his aging grandfather, Shiro took upon him the mantle of creating the most beautiful clocks that the Kingdom of Altea ever did see. 

Though the name “Shirogane” was spoken of so reverently from the mouths of royalty and commoners alike, the Shiroganes only asked for a price that even the lay man could afford. Every person, prince and pauper alike, deserved to see time in the same light.

Nestled between the delectable scent of baking bread and the well-worn rustling of books claiming treasure and adventure, the Shirogane family’s legacy lived on, the lights in _Time and Again_ never twinkled out. Season after season, year after year, generation after generation, time went on and so did the Shirogane legacy. 

Still, that is not why we are here today. We are here, by fate’s most lucky chance, to talk about a topic that some merely speak of in whispers.

What do I speak of? What treachery have I wrought upon you? 

Rest easy, for I have not caused a vile plague or evil’s spawn to curse you. No, what I speak of is a matter most sensitive to the heart, something so desired and yet some may never have the chance to experience.

Soulmates—those bonds through time and space itself, brought together time and time again by power outside the natural, meandering into the magical arts which had long-since been believed as fantasy. 

But trust my words, for soulmates are very much real. And soulmates are most important to our tale, as this is the story of a simple man, from humble beginnings and even humbler middlings, whose magical clocks brought together two souls destined to be together, just as they were always meant to be.

Still, what could a clockmaker possibly offer to help soulmates meet? What sorcery could a young boy cast to make people believe that he held the key to connecting souls?

Well, give me the opportunity to _show_ you. 

Paint the picture in your mind: a shop a little ways off mainstreet, the maple door worn and the floorboards scuffed with little marks that told a hundred years of stories. Two windows allow the bright afternoon light in through foggy glass, though they are wiped down meticulously every morning so that passersby may see the wares nestled inside. 

And oh, were there wares— hundreds of clocks, each one carved with perfection, each one set with precision only a master clockmaker could give. Adorning the walls, the cupboards, even dangling from the ceiling, each clock as alive as you or I. 

The _tick-tick-tick_ was as comforting as the burning wood on the hearth, and young Shiro would sit at the workbench, day in and day out, as his grandfather passed his knowledge on.

Except… well…

“They don’t work! None of them work!” 

All of young Shiro’s clocks, no matter how expertly crafted or set with such precision that it made his grandfather beam with pride, did not **_work._** They sat there on his table, perfect and yet perfectly _useless._

It was through no fault of his own, that much his grandfather assured him with a twinkle in his eye, for he had watched with eagle eyes as his grandson put the wheels into place with the exact precision that he himself would use, and then winded it— just once. 

“You must have more faith in yourself, my dear boy. You did well.” 

When Shiro tried to throw away the clock, his grandfather merely shook his head and placed it right next to some of his own clocks in the center of his store. 

“Patience yields focus.”

“But they’re broken, Grandfather! They’re broken and useless.”

“Hush, my child. Your work is perfect. There is a reason it has yet ticked. Patience yields focus. And time?” Shiro’s grandfather pressed a kiss to his grandson’s cheek before saying, “You cannot rush time. It’ll do well to remember that.”

Still, each day passed by and the clocks did not dare make even a tick, until the day a young couple wandered inside, the sweet tang of springtime following them. They seemed vaguely familiar, though it was the tell-tale silver hair and juniberries pinned behind the woman’s ear that said all that was needed to be said. Altean royalty, no doubt, wishing for one of his grandfather’s finest pieces. 

Shiro made sure to open the door and bow, as appropriate of royalty, though just as he went to close the door he noticed a small boy, dark hair mussed and blueish-purple eyes wide, staring with mouth-agape from just across the way. 

Shiro looked back to the couple who entered the store and, rather than close the door, winked at the boy and left it open. 

A little air never hurt, after all. 

“Your Highnesses! Congratulations on your engagement—please, please. Have a look around. Take your time while I go retrieve his Majesty’s clock from my workshop. Shiro, please show Prince Lotor and Princess Allura whatever they wish to see.” His grandfather had winked, eyes twinkling as bright as the gilding on his most esteemed clocks. 

Shiro did his best to guide the smitten prince and his future bride through the shop, leading them toward the section further in the back, where jewel-encrusted and gold-laden timepieces glittered like rubies and diamonds in the afternoon light.

The couple looked at the clocks adorning the walls, the beautiful handcrafted creations his grandfather poured his heart and soul into, but the most peculiar thing happened the moment they both grabbed for one of Shiro’s immovable clocks gathering dust on the center shelf. It was the rather plain one he’d created not a fortnight before, the one he’d wanted to throw straight into the trash where it belonged.

“Oh, those don't work—” Shiro said with embarrassment, feeling the red burning across his cheeks and straight up to his ears, but the woman only gasped in response.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

“My word!” the woman exclaimed, grabbing hold of the man at her side, her other tightening on Shiro’s broken— _unbroken_ —clock.

They both stared at his grandfather, who peeked his head from the back, with a reverence that made Shiro’s heart soar inside his little chest.

“This clock—is it true, Mr. Shirogane?”

His grandfather’s response was to only smile, so serenely that Shiro could only glance between the couple and his grandfather, as confused as you undoubtedly are now.

“Lotor—it’s ticking! It’s ticking!”

Shiro did not understand how the clock began to tick, nor of the woman’s startled shock and pure joy, but that thought was dashed from Shiro’s mind when Prince Lotor picked up his princess, swinging her about in his strong arms. The way they smiled, the way their eyes flickered with a light that Shiro hadn’t seen since his mother and father passed, since his Papa passed, made the rest of the world fade away. 

“It seems so. My grandson has been touched with the magic of the Shirogane family—I wish the two of you the most beautiful of futures.” And he laughed, a big belly-laugh that made Princess Allura weep in her prince’s arms. “Blessings to you, Princess Allura, Prince Lotor, and blessings to Altea. Blessings to us all.”

“It’s magic, Lotor,” Princess Allura whispered.

“I love you.” Prince Lotor rested their foreheads together, the emotion in his voice making Shiro’s eyes water.

“And I, you.”

But one word struck a chord in Shiro, one word he would never forget.

 _Magic_.

“Me?” young Shiro had asked, unable to look away from the couple and their passionate embrace.

“Yes, my child. Your magic.”

The couple purchased the clock for far more than it was worth, Prince Lotor making sure to shake both Shiro and his grandfather’s hand twice, Princess Allura bursting into tears as she leaned down to hug Shiro tight. She smelled like juniberries and hope, and it was a feeling Shiro knew he would never forget as she pulled a juniberry from her hair, tucking it behind Shiro’s ear.

Shiro snuck a glance out the door when the Prince and his future bride left, but the boy from before was long gone.

The next morning, a line of couples circled around the block thrice over, all clamoring for a clock that would wake with a true soulmate’s touch. They offered everything in their pockets for the chance, but only nine couples were able to find their clocks.

“He is young still, my friends,” his grandfather promised each couple that entered through their doors. Perhaps some were soulmates, others not, but each one heavy-hearted and yet _hopeful._ “You must give him time. You cannot rush magic.” 

Some of his clocks were to be perfectly ordinary— beginning to tick the moment Shiro turned the dial. But more often than that, the clocks would be so silent, waiting for the moment that a couple came by, reaching for the clock that would show that they were with the one they loved. 

A soulmate—one person to love with his whole being, to rise every morning and fall asleep next to every night. The thought made Shiro’s heart positively ache. The kind of love his parents had shared, his Grandfather and Papa shared, that Prince Lotor and Princess Allura had shown in their smiles and tears… Shiro wanted it. He wanted it more than all the gold and treasure those who entered the shop had offered.

“Will I get a soulmate, Grandfather?” Shiro had asked one night as the wicks of his candles burned down to the candelabra below. He stared at it, _through_ it, but he could see nothing in the flame.

“Shirogane men,” his grandfather explained as he pulled up a chair next to him, the sound of wood on wood and the hand on his back a comfort he had sorely needed, “find their soulmates in the most unexpecting of places. My dear boy, if you worry about finding your soulmate then you will be so preoccupied that you will fall straight into that flame.” 

Shiro hadn’t noticed until that moment how close he was getting to the candle, but his grandfather gently pried him away. 

“Not everyone meets their soulmate young. Sometimes it takes a long, long while. It took me until I was near my thirtieth year on his earth to make the clock for your grandfather and I.” His grandfather pointed to the two clocks on the far back wall, nestled behind glass. One was ornate, bronze and gold, with little opals adorning the face— it was the clock his father had made for his mother. The other was a deep mahogany, touched with time, but the intricate ivy inlay was a sight to behold even now.

Shiro watched as his grandfather’s face broke with a smile, though it made Shiro want to cry. 

“I miss Papa,” Shiro admitted, feeling the wetness on his cheeks. “I miss daddy and mama, too.” 

Grandfather hugged him close. “I do, too. But I know that soulmates will always meet again, whether it is in this life or another. So hold your tears, my child. Hold them in, because you will meet your soulmate. We always do.” 

And young Shiro did hold on to that hope, through year after year, clock after clock. Every clock Shiro made, every couple he sparked hope and joy inside, was a little bit closer to finding his own soulmate. 

Yet, it could not be forever. As he got older, his hands bigger and stronger, his heart yearning for love that it _had_ to feel, Shiro could feel that childlike hope beginning to disappear. 

You can understand that, my empathetic reader, can’t you? The feeling that all is lost, that love seems to be for every person other than yourself? At night, sometimes it’s hard to sleep alone in your bed, waiting for the night when there will be warmth beside you, arms embracing you?

It was at King Lotor and Queen Allura’s daughter’s eighth birthday that he met the Princess’s second cousin, who had offered his hand for Shiro to dance. He said yes, because there was always that hope inside him, that yearning for a warm bed and arms around him, and Shiro couldn’t stay away. 

He was a flatterer, that man— he knew every right thing to say to make Shiro’s heart feel as though it were fluttering in his chest, made his entire body shake. There was passion there, and maybe some form of love, but Shiro could feel it in his bones when he brought the man to meet his grandfather, when they’d tried the clocks in _Time and Again_ and yet they were not greeted with so much as a tick.

They’d stayed together for a time, Shiro working his fingers until they bled, hoping that if he tried harder, then he could make the right clock to make his lover stay. Day in and day out, clock after clock, time after time, and all they were met with was silence.

The last time was on their anniversary, three years after they’d met. Shiro was nearing twenty-five and he was so very tired. His body ached, his eyes were bleary, his hands were bruised and battered, and his newest clock…

It was magnificent— easily the most beautiful piece that Shiro had ever created. Silverwork, roses, diamonds and emeralds that made the entire clock glisten. Joined in the middle were two hearts— a ruby and onyx. He’d been toiling over the clock for months, hoping that this would be the one. Nestling in that last wheel and closing the back, Shiro took a deep breath as he winded up the clock— only once. That was all he needed. 

Just once.

Shiro took his lover’s hand and kissed his palm, praying to every god that when their hands touched, it would wake.

He could feel it, knew it in his very being, that this was the clock— this was _his_ clock.

And yet…

_Silence._

“Takashi…”

“You can’t rush time,” Shiro told him, _begged_ him, but the man hadn’t been willing to listen. “I’m working on a clock— a perfect clock, a _better_ clock, just for us. Please— just give me time. Patience yields focu—” 

“How much time, Takashi? How much more time can I give?” 

“Ada—” Shiro pleaded, “please don’t go—” 

But the man pulled his hand away and walked out of _Time and Again_ without so much as a backward glance, leaving Shiro and his silent masterpiece.

Alone, broken-hearted, Shiro picked up the clock and smashed it on the ground, the face shattering, the metal twisting, the wheels and jewels flying across the shop. 

All of that work, all of that _time,_ and for what? 

Shiro left the clock and its broken pieces there, scattered across _Time and Again,_ just like he left his heart.

Now, now, my sweet reader. I can sense that your eyes are watering, but I told you that there was sadness nestled between the joy and happiness, did I not? Dry those eyes and blow your nose, for I am a man of my word, and I will not allow you to suffer for long.

Unfortunately though, after that night, Shiro _did_ suffer. It wasn’t just the absence of his lover, but his beloved Grandfather, whose condition had begun to decline.

Though he never spoke of it, Shiro could see the weariness of time on his grandfather’s face, the pain of being without his soulmate weighing him down. He was aging, too, nearing his eightieth year, and the load of standard clockmaking was beginning to whittle away his grandfather’s energy.

Instead, Shiro and his grandfather came to an agreement; Shiro would hire an apprentice, someone he could teach the art of clockmaking to, and his grandfather would focus on only the pieces he thought most important.

“You have something important?” Shiro had asked, and the only response he got was his grandfather’s full-bellied laugh.

“I do, my child. It’s my most important piece.” 

It took a few weeks to find someone who was worthy of being a Shirogane apprentice, though it was actually Queen Allura who recommended him. 

He was barely a man, just having met his nineteenth year, but his hands were old, much like his soul. His name was Keith Kogane, the son of the King’s blacksmith and her husband, and he was _talented._ Though he had not created a clock, Queen Allura brought several of his swords to show the artistry and beauty of his metalwork. 

Shiro knew what it really was, an apology for what had happened with her cousin, but Shiro couldn’t help but admit that the work was superb. The intricacy of the pommels— some with flowers, others with dragons, one with the head of a lion and another that Shiro could immediately tell was the King’s himself, the purple jewels and onyx inlay— were absolutely _breathtaking._

“Are you sure you’re willing to spare him?” 

Queen Allura’s only response was to smile and say, “I’m absolutely sure. Hands like these? They’re better for more delicate work. One of your clocks is worth a thousand swords.” 

“But… the magic of my family…” 

Queen Allura pressed the lion’s pommel into Shiro’s hands. “Even if he doesn’t have your magic, he has _talent._ Not every clock must promise a soulmate.” 

The next day, Keith Kogane arrived, ready to prove himself worthy of the opportunity afforded to him. He came with wide eyes and strong hands, and Shiro felt as though all of the worries and fears he had melted away the moment he shook Keith’s hand. 

Keith was smart, with a keen mind and an eye for details. It took a few weeks for Shiro and his grandfather to teach Keith the ropes, the basics of clockmaking. The first few tries were nothing short of disastrous; Keith’s hands were far too familiar with the force necessary for making swords and armor, less so for clocks. 

Cutting the wheel’s teeth and spokes, sanding down to a perfect point, making the coils, ratchets, pivot rods, springs, pinions— each of them took time and patience, of which Keith had to learn the same way Shiro had.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Keith admitted after he drilled just a little too much off his wheel, rendering the entire thing useless. It was his third week in the shop, and Shiro could already see the weight on Keith’s shoulder’s. “My hands— they’re just not as good as yours or Mr. Shirogane’s.” Keith pulled off his glasses, tossing them onto the table. “I suck at this.” 

“Hey, hey,” Shiro told him, scooting closer to him on the workbench. They both had been working on Shiro’s newest creation, a rather simple brass and silver mantel clock, but it was clear for all to see that each little tooth was beginning to grate on his newest apprentice’s nerves. “No one’s perfect the first time.” 

“But I’ve been trying— I just _can’t._ ” Keith reached up, brushing his dark hair from his eyes. Shiro could see the pain and frustration in those purple-blue eyes, a frustration that Shiro knew well. “Maybe you should just send me back to the castle.”

“That’s stupid,” Shiro replied, rubbing his shoulder gently against Keith’s. Shiro tried not to frown when Keith pulled away from his touch. “You’ve only just begun.” 

“And I’ve ruined everything I’ve touched.”

“Hardly.” 

Keith balefully glared, but it wilted the moment his eyes met Shiro’s. It took a moment for the man to pick his words, but after a moment he replied with a soft, sad, “I’ll never be as good as you. I’m not worth being your apprentice.” 

“Patience yields focus,” slipped out of his mouth before his mind had the opportunity to think the words through, but the moment he said it, it was like a weight was lifted from Keith’s shoulders and he slumped forward. 

“Give it time, Keith. I wasn’t perfect when I started, either. No one is. But if you beat yourself up about every little mistake, then you’ll never be able to have the courage to try again.” Shiro reached out for the wheel, running his fingers over the brass. “Focus on the good— other than that last tooth, this was perfect.” 

“Really?” There was hope in Keith’s voice, a hope that lit a fire that Shiro thought was smoldered. 

“Yeah. Really.” 

While I wish to tell you that this is where the story ends, my optimistic reader, we aren’t quite there. The fairytale love story that we all yearn for, the true love’s kiss that slays the evil, the promise of a happily ever after does not come quite yet.

The reason for that is both simple and very, very difficult. 

For, you see, despite the magic in his hands and the brain in his head, Takashi Shirogane, for all intents and purposes, was as dense as a pile of bricks. 

And so too was Keith Kogane. 

Day after day, week after week, month after month, Shiro and Keith became closer as Keith slowly learned the magic of clockmaking. Long days where Shiro and Keith burned the midnight oil, learning how to work in tandem, became something of a comfort that eased the pain of an empty and cold bed. 

And on those long days where they lit the candles to aid them long after the sun had set, Shiro and Keith talked of everything and nothing, about the past, the present, the future. 

Keith was smart— had been even better than his mother had been with metalwork as a child, but when Shiro asked him why he’d given up being the King’s very own blacksmith, Keith’s ears turned red and he mumbled something about something he’d seen when he was a child. 

Shiro hadn’t wanted to pry, but there was always something niggling at the back of his mind. 

It finally came to Shiro one night as he stared at the empty spot in his bed, running his thumb against the fabric. He could almost imagine that wild black hair against the pillow, half-lidded eyes, so blue they looked almost purple when the sunlight hit them, and— 

Shiro laughed, because what else could he do? 

The next morning, heart filled with joy, Shiro sat down on the workbench next to Keith. He didn’t say anything, but did find himself glancing more than once to where Keith worked. 

It was nice, watching Keith work. He would stick his tongue out just a bit between his teeth as he worked, left eye squinting as he worked on the chapter ring, slowly shaving away the perimeter for a bezel. 

Over the months of laborious work, Keith had grown so much in his talents. No longer was Keith making mistakes with teeth or wheels, moving into the more ornate and visible parts of clockmaking. That was where Keith’s works truly shined; there was such unique and beautiful work with the decoration that Shiro was tempted to tell Keith that he’d be happy to work on the intricacies of the inside if Keith was willing to do the same on the outside.

A thought rose to Shiro’s mind, unbidden, about the clock he had shattered, the broken heart he wished to mend. 

But it was too late for that clock, too late for his own heart. He’d left the shop that night, and when he’d returned the following morning, his grandfather had already taken care of the mess. He’d kept the key around his neck, a constant reminder that his clock, his _soulmate,_ was already gone. 

But falling in love with Keith Kogane was like breathing— instinctual and all-consuming. Once the thought was in his head, Shiro couldn’t think of anything else. His hands, his smile, the way he looked away from Shiro every time their elbows touched. 

It was heaven and hell, and more than once Shiro thought to reach over and pull Keith in for a kiss, but every time he reminded himself that one day Keith would find his own soulmate and Shiro would be alone again.

And so they worked, tirelessly and hopelessly, and every time he got too close, Shiro pulled himself back. 

This wasn’t for him.

 _Keith_ wasn’t for him.

And so it was, until the cold February morning that Shiro arrived at _Time and Again_ just a little earlier than usual, spotting a peculiar sight through the frosty windows. 

Keith and his grandfather, sitting on the workbench, hunched over a clock. Shiro only caught a glimpse— beautiful silverwork— before Keith noticed him in the window, clumsily throwing a cloth over the clock. His cheeks were red, eyes downcast, but his grandfather didn’t give him a moment to think further on it as he rushed to the front door, welcoming Shiro in.

Shiro swallowed back the lump in his throat; the only thing that would make Keith and his grandfather so secretive would be…

Yes, my inquisitive reader— a clock of his very own, a clock meant undoubtedly for someone Keith loved. Perhaps even a soulmate… 

How fitting that his grandfather helped him, as it would have been too much for Shiro to bear.

He tried his best to push away the pain, but the closer his birthday became, the more the thought of Keith leaving him with an ache that nothing could fill. 

It wasn’t until the morning of February 29th that Shiro arrived to find the most unexpected of surprises.

There, on the workbench that had been his since he was a small child, was a clock— _his_ clock.

Gone were the roses and the white diamonds and emeralds, in their place were soft silver juniberries and lilac diamonds. Even the onyx and ruby hearts were still there, though they’d been cut in half and put together, as one heart rather than two.

No note was needed— the wheels of the clock sat on soft cloth, waiting to be put into place. The winding key Shiro wore around his neck felt heavy, then, a weight that pulled him down to the bench. He sat in silence for a long, long moment before he turned the clock with shaking hands and opened the back. 

Despite all of the memories, all of the fear and the pain and the _loneliness,_ Shiro allowed himself a moment of joy as the wheels clicked into place. He turned it back and then slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted the key from around his neck and slid it inside, turning only once.

This time, the silence was beautiful.

Shiro closed his eyes and took in a deep breath when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“When I was a kid, I saw… that day, with the clock. Your clock.” 

“I know.” Shiro opened his eyes, turning to look at Keith. “Thank you. Really. You don’t know how much it means.” 

Keith smiled, pulling back his hand. “I, uh… I think I do.” He paused, just for a moment, before sticking his tongue between his lips as he always did when he was thinking, and said, “Happy birthday, Shiro.” 

For a moment, just a moment, Shiro wanted to reach up and twine his fingers through Keith’s hair and kiss him, let him know that it didn’t matter about the clock, that he was happy to live without a soulmate than without him, but instead he only managed a simple, “Thank you.” 

“I know.” Then, with just a moment of silence, Keith asked “Where do you want me to put it? We can’t leave it here, or someone’ll think your heart is for sale.” 

“Uh— why don’t we put it in the back? I can bring it home later toni—” 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

It was then, my joyous reader, that both Shiro and Keith realized that Shiro’s clock, the one that they both had poured their souls into, the one that Shiro had thought lost, the one that both were touching, began to _tick._

And I am proud to say it was in that moment that Shiro grabbed the back of Keith’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, one that spoke of time and promises, of two little boys who met once before, of pain and frustration, of learning and loving in silence. It spoke of the past, the present, and a future that both Shiro and Keith knew would be forever. 

How, you may ask, can I possibly know this story of a simple man of humble beginnings and even humbler middlings? How can I possibly know that this is a happily ever after?

Well, my dearest reader— 

I’ll leave that to your imagination.

_**The End** _

_K & S _

  
  



End file.
